Verner's Pride eBook

“Had I been flurried or terrified by it, sir,
so as to lose my presence of mind, or if I was one
of those timid folks that see signs in dreams, or
take every white post to be a ghost, that they come
to on a dark night, you might laugh at and disbelieve
me. But I tell it to you, sir, as you say, deliberately;
just as it happened. I can’t have much longer
time to live, sir; but I’d stake it all on the
truth that it was the spirit of Mr. Frederick Massingbird.
When you have once known a man, there are a hundred
points by which you may recognise him, beyond possibility
of being mistaken. They have got a story in the
place, sir, to-day—­as you may have heard—­that
my poor child’s ghost appeared to Dan Duff last
night, and that the boy has been senseless ever since.
It has struck me, sir, that perhaps he also saw what
I did.”

Mr. Bourne paused. “Did you say anything
of this to Mr. Verner?”

“Not I, sir. As I tell you, I felt like
a guilty man in his presence, one with something to
hide. He married Mr. Fred’s widow, pretty
creature, and it don’t seem a nice thing to tell
him. If it had been the other gentleman’s
spirit, Mr. John’s, I should have told him at
once.”

Mr. Bourne rose. To argue with old Matthew in
his present frame of mind, appeared to be about as
useless a waste of time as to argue with Susan Peckaby
on the subject of the white donkey. He told him
he would see him again in a day or two, and took his
departure.

But he did not dismiss the subject from his thoughts.
No, he could not do that. He was puzzled.
Such a tale from one like old Matthew—­calm,
pious, sensible, and verging on the grave, made more
impression on Mr. Bourne than all Deerham could have
made. Had Deerham come to him with the story,
he would have flung it to the winds.

He began to think that some person, from evil design
or love of mischief, must be personating Frederick
Massingbird. It was a natural conclusion.
And Matthew’s surmise, that the same thing might
have alarmed Dan Duff, was perfectly probable.
Mr. Bourne determined to ascertain the latter fact,
as soon as Dan should be in a state of sufficient
convalescence, bodily and mentally, to give an account.
He had already paid one visit to Mrs. Duff’s—­as
that lady informed Lionel.

Two or three more visits he paid there during the
day, but not until night did he find Dan revived.
In point of fact, the clergyman penetrated to the
kitchen just after that startling communication had
been made by Dan. The women were standing in consternation
when the vicar entered, one of them strongly recommending
that the copper furnace should be heated, and Dan
plunged into it to “bring him round.”

“How is he now?” began Mr. Bourne.
“Oh! I see; he is sensible.”

“Well, sir, I don’t know,” said
Mrs Duff. “I’m afraid as his head’s
a-going right off. He persists in saying now that
it wasn’t the ghost of Rachel at all—­but
somebody else’s.”